


Winter Hearts

by nerakrose



Category: Havemercy Series - Jaida Jones & Danielle Bennett
Genre: Agender Character, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Queerplatonic Relationships, Sweet, both Al and Caius are aspec in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 02:33:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13203912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerakrose/pseuds/nerakrose
Summary: Caius and Al make a trip to Thremedon for an exclusive winter ball at the Basquiat.Festivebastion 2017.





	Winter Hearts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moonix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonix/gifts).



> This takes place roughly two years after the events of Shadow Magic. In this 'verse, Caius and Al got together properly after that whole ordeal, and have been living together, splitting time between Al's farm in the countryside and Caius townhouse in Thremedon.
> 
> Happy holidays, [moonix](http://archiveofourown.org/users/moonix)! ♥ I had difficulties picking which of your prompts to write as I wanted to do all of them, and eventually went with this one. It's not as funny as I planned (or as you hoped for), but it's soft so I hope you like it anyway.
> 
> Thanks to my beta [palavapeite](http://archiveofourown.org/users/palavapeite) for looking this over for me. ♥  
> Remaining mistakes are mine.

Al didn't consider himself an early riser except by necessity, which in practice meant that, having grown up on a farm and then given his life to the military, he'd spent the majority of his life getting out of bed at inhumane hours. 

Caius was not that kind of person; he'd not grown up on a farm and neither had he ever had the dubious pleasure of keeping to a military schedule. Caius was of noble stock. Caius should've been sleeping in until ten most mornings, not up and swanning about at the ass crack of dawn and _humming_ and planning outfits, and being a nuisance.

To his credit, Caius _had_ learned to leave Al alone in the mornings when they were in the city and not on the farm, so one of two reasons he was now awake was habit. They'd only arrived in Thremedon the day before. _Not_ to Caius' credit was his tiresome habit of taking Al's morning robe instead of his own. Al, in need of coffee and not feeling very charitable, defiantly took Caius' robe and put it on, and then went downstairs.

"That's my robe, dear," Caius said when Al entered the breakfast room. He was of course wearing Al's robe, the too-long sleeves rolled up.

"You took mine," Al retorted and helped himself to coffee. Caius' robe didn't fit him in the slightest; the sleeves ended two inches above his wrists, it was tight across the shoulders, and what should've been a floor length gown only reached Al's knees. "Give it back or I'll keep it."

"Mmh," said Caius, sipping his tea. There was an entire white blossom in the cup, Al noticed. "How did you sleep?"

Al shrugged. "Fine." It wasn't a lie. He could technically sleep wherever, but since retiring he'd grown awfully fond of his beds—both the one at home and the one here in the city. However, switching between them never resulted in a restful night.

It didn't for Caius either, who always ended up tossing and turning and accidentally kneeing Al in the back. 

"Do you want me to…" Caius wiggled his fingers.

"I want my robe back," Al said. He didn't have a headache. He was just tired and his wrists were cold.

"We have an appointment with the tailor at two," Caius informed him, rising from the table. He shucked the robe and came round to put it over Al's shoulders. "Final fitting before the ball." He smooched Al's temple, then went back to his chair.

"Aren't you cold?" The robe was warm and snug over Al's shoulders, and Caius was now sitting at the table in nothing but a thin silk nightshirt. 

Caius shrugged and sipped his tea. Al buttered a slice of toast, watching Caius who just drank his tea with a dreamy, faraway expression on his face at odds with his rumpled hair and the goosebumps on his arms.

"Come here," Al said, with a sigh. He gestured Caius over.

Caius pushed his cup and saucer over to where Al was sitting, then got up again to join him. Al slid the robe off his shoulders and wrapped Caius in it, Caius in turn—as expected—leaned into Al's side.

"Can I—"

"You can sit on my lap when I've finished my breakfast," Al said. Experience had taught him that eating with a lapful of a feline-inclined person was a hassle, a pain, and inevitably messy.

"I could feed you," Caius offered. "I've finished my breakfast already."

"No thanks."

"You don't find it romantic?"

"To be treated like a helpless toddler? Not in the least," Al answered.

Caius hummed in tacit agreement. "Very well." He finished his tea. The white blossom sat in the bottom of the cup, soggy and yellowed around the edges. "There's a very interesting production at The Fishmongrel this week. I hear that the play incorporates traditional Ke-Han theatrical narrative conventions while the story ostensibly is a Ramanthine classic."

"We'll go," Al said. 

"Yes?" Caius was delighted.

"The Fishmongrel," Al said. "Isn't that the little anarchist place behind The Grand Threatre?"

"Possibly," Caius said, slyly.

"Are we going to get arrested?"

" _Maybe_."

"Hmm." Al finished his coffee. "Sounds fun."

It didn't sound _fun_ , not exactly, but anything that Caius deemed interesting was, by and large, bound to actually _be_ interesting. So long as it wasn't _opera_ —ballet was also stretching it—Al was willing to go with him to see strange plays.

~*~

"You can't be serious," Al commented, when he saw the dress Caius intended to wear to the ball. "It's _transparent_." 

That wasn't even mentioning how it looked more like a woman's dress than anything else Caius had worn before, including the Ke-Han gowns he'd liked so much on that disastrous diplomatic mission of theirs. Those still came out to play, every now and then, but this...this was ordinary Volstovic fashion for women. In the _summer_.

"Of course it's transparent, it's muslin," Caius said.

Truly, the only thing about the dress that wasn't distinctly female was the chest region; women wore these kinds of dresses low cut to show off their assets, but Caius had none of that. For all that the dress was transparent, it was of a modest cut with a high collar; the only bare skin that showed was Caius' arms, but only because the sleeves had not yet been sewn on.

"It's _winter_ ," Al felt compelled to point out. "Isn't this...out of season?"

"Not at all, love." Caius regarded himself in the mirror. The tailors were pinning the sleeves to the dress.

Al had to admit it was a very pretty dress, all white with pale blue accents in the form of pearls and brocade at the hems. It was also so transparent that Caius' body was effectively on full display.

"Will you at least be wearing undergarments?" Al asked, already giving up. "It's _cold_. Because it's _winter._ "

"Oh, don't fret. I shan't suffer the cold in the slightest. Alfred—thank you, dear." Caius let the man he'd just addressed as Alfred place a fur lined cape over his shoulders. The cape was pale blue in the same shade as the accents on the dress, in some kind of velvet or possibly a very soft and supple leather, and lined with the fuzzy soft white fur of some unfortunate animal or other. The collar was more of the same fuzz, the whole lending a softness to Caius that he rarely expressed. "Well?" he said.

"It looks good," Al admitted. "I like the cape. It suits you."

"Thank you." Caius gave him a dazzling smile. "You'll be wearing one too, of course."

"What?"

A few moments later Caius was back in his normal clothes and Al had been put into the suit Caius intended for him to wear; a sharply cut thing in white with silver buttons that looked a cross between a dress uniform and a three piece dinner suit, only the jacket was cropped high in the front and low in the back. There was no pocket for a square or buttonhole for a flower, just a short and neat row of buttons, and on the legs a stripe in the same blue as Caius' outfit sported.

It was a good look and Al wasn't at all dissatisfied, though he would also have been perfectly happy just wearing his normal dress uniform, even if it was, in Caius' words, appallingly red. The tailors and Al (and Caius) were happy with the fit, and his own blue fur lined cape was lovely; longer and differently cut, and most importantly, didn't look like something a girl would wear for her debut.

"There's not as much fuzz," Al commented. 

"Did you want fuzz?" Caius had stepped up behind him and was eyeing Al's hair critically; no doubt he was about to suggest a haircut.

"No! This is fine!"

Caius nodded, satisfied. "Your hair is very long, dear—"

"I'm not having it cut."

"Perish the thought." Caius produced a small blue ribbon. "May I?"

Al let him tie his hair back into a neat little queue. "I look like an arse." Like one of those rich and noble tossers that liked to swan around in in grand palaces.

"We _are_ going to an invite-only ball," Caius said. "They won't let you in if you're going to look your usual shaggy self, charming though it is." 

"I'm not a dog," Al muttered, all too familiar with the workings of Caius' mind at this point. Also, Caius had mentioned it to him once.

"Well no, that would be very embarrassing for me," Caius mused. "I'm an eccentric and very confident in being so, but I'm not so eccentric that I'd marry an actual dog. That's just not _done_ , even if I _am_ a Greylace."

"We aren't married," Al said, automatically. He loosened the cape and took it off; it was getting really hot. "People like us don't get to do that sort of thing."

"People like us?" Caius passed the cape on to Alfred. "What kind of people are we?"

Al was quiet. Caius was looking at him through the mirror. "You know what kind," Al eventually said, and stepped off the dais to change.

He put in a quick order with Alfred while Caius was distracted by a new load of fabric that had just arrived. They then left to acquire tickets for the theatre, making a short stop on the way by a haberdashery for new hats and matching gloves.

~*~

The first few days back in Thremedon were always a bit off-kilter, as if Al had to fit himself into a new reality. It wasn't only that the city thrummed with a specific kind of energy he couldn't ignore; knowing where the water ran was one thing, but feeling the presence of the Well water was another. Home was simple. Glendarrow he knew like the palm of his hand—he could navigate it blindly if he had to—and it was familiar, comforting, home-y. He was finely attuned to the seasons there, the swell of the river in spring, the stillness of the lake, the quiet of the forest and the wide expanse of the fields.

Thremedon had her own patterns. Wells and pipes and deep underground rivers, bricks and streets and piercing winds. Winter always felt colder in Thremedon than it did at home. 

He and Caius were always quiet the first few days. Not exactly tiptoeing around each other, but Al suspected that Caius needed to adjust too, to settle into a different way of existing. 

They went to see the strange play at the anarchist theatre. The tailor shop finished their outfits for the ball. Al met with his mates at a respectable pub in the upper end of the Amazement. Caius took tea with magician friends and noble cousins and returned with either gossip or bright new ideas for decor and fashion. They went to dinner with Josette and Lord Temur.

And slowly, slowly, they eased back into the city.

~*~

Caius was quiet in the carriage on the way to the Basquiat. The cape rested on his shoulders, closed in front with a silver clasp, and his hands—clad in soft kidskin gloves dyed the same shade of blue as their capes—rested in his lap.

"Hey," Al said. He too was wearing blue kidskin gloves. "You look good."

"Of course," Caius answered, smiling and turning to look at Al. He'd done his hair up so both his eyes were visible. The blind one had stopped unnerving Al a long time ago. "I _always_ look fabulous."

Something was off. They'd come to Thremedon for the express purpose of attending this ball—they _had_ scheduled four weeks in Thremedon, of which one had now passed, the bare minimum of what was socially acceptable—at Caius' insistence, and he wasn't anywhere near as excited as he was supposed to be.

"Are you all right?"

Caius' eye flickered to a point behind Al's shoulder. "We're here," he said, and the carriage came to a halt. 

Shelving the matter for later, Al helped Caius out and then they were approaching the front doors of the Basquiat. They were wide open, golden light spilling out onto the frozen ground where it contrasted with the deep blue shadows of dusk.

"Let me do the talking," Caius said as they drew closer to the light, reaching into the inside pocket on Al's cape, that had definitely not been there before, and drew out a silver embossed invitation on expensive card stock.

"The talking?" Al whispered, eyeing the invitation. He noticed it was _blank_. "I thought you said we were _invited_?"

"I said it was an invite-only ball," Caius answered, and Al had to bite his tongue to keep quiet. "Margraves and wildgraves only. You turned down a margrave title— _twice_ —and _I_ was never awarded one, for reasons completely beyond the pale, _so_ —hush, now."

Caius presented the invitation to the guard at the door. The guard paused, but whatever illusion Caius was working on him seemed to work, because he welcomed them with a smile and gestured for them to go on. 

"That wasn't _talking_ ," Al pointed out. 

"As I was saying," Caius continued, "it was only a little bit of gentle nudging. The alternative was climbing through a window at the back of the building, and I'd rather not dirty my dress."

"Neither of us are margraves," Al said, but he was nevertheless helping Caius with his cape in the wardrobe, and a few seconds later his own cape had been handed to the attendant in exchange for a tag.

"Nothing to concern ourselves with," Caius said and took Al's arm. "Now, let's mingle."

Caius seemed almost himself again, so Al let himself be led into the ballroom. He accepted flutes of sparkly alcohol and made the requisite pleasantries, but let Caius handle the actual socialising.

It wasn't that he didn't like these kinds of events, but he _didn't_ like these kinds of events. There was so much standing and so much awful clinky background noise layered beneath the orchestra and the slightly-too-loud murmur of conversation. Everything was shiny, or sparkly, or colourful, or a combination of all three, which was exhausting to look at when one could be looking at trees instead, or brushing down a horse. 

Caius had been right about the dress. Several women in attendance wore similar gowns, various levels of transparency, and Al recognised the cut of his own suit on margrave Royston, who he spotted across the room in conversation with a lady he didn't recognise. Royston was with Hal, also sharply dressed. 

"That was dreadful! Do you mean to say you enjoyed it? The whole thing was turned on its head!"

Al turned his attention back to the people Caius had elected to talk to; some lord or other and his wife (so clearly, he and Caius weren't the only non-margraves in attendance). 

"Yes, it was very disappointing," the lord agreed. "I say, if one means to stage a production of _The Shepherdess_ , one can't remove the key element! Where was the romance?"

"On the contrary," Al found himself saying, "I don't think they removed the romance at all. It was simply subverted—if you were familiar with Ke-Han theatre at all, you'd recognise the narrative elements that carried that particular plot line. The prince didn't fall in love with the shepherdess because she wore beautiful clothing, but because she refused to accept his—frankly—superficial proposal. He fell in love with her personality and her wits. It was both the prince _and_ the king who had to realise what the salt meant."

The lord and the lady were quiet. Caius squeezed Al's arm, then leaned in to whisper: "Lord and Lady Imereti."

"I didn't realise we had a versity man in our midst!" Lady Imereti finally said.

"I'm not," Al protested. "I just paid attention to the play. The colour of the prince's jacket changed."

"Alcibiades here was a vital member of the diplomatic mission to Xi'an—you know the one," Caius added, voice laced with honey.

The dawning comprehension on their faces would've been hilarious if Al hadn't been so annoyed.

"Ah—of course," Lord Imereti said, then cleared his throat. "Darling, do you want another drink? Excuse us." They left, only just managing not to be overtly rude.

"And what did you think of the vilification of the shepherdess' sister?" Caius asked, now leading them towards a new set of unsuspecting ball guests. "That was _quite_ a departure from the original, if I have my fairytales straight."

Al switched his and Caius' empty flutes for new ones. "She wasn't a villain," he said. "The king and the prince were. The audience was meant to _think_ she was a villain because she remained in the palace, but she was working against the king the whole time, and the _king_ was the villain."

Caius paused and they came to a halt by a large pillar decorated with frosted vines and silver baubles. " _I_ thought so," he said. His brow was furrowed and he looked like he wanted to say something more, but he did nothing but worry at his lip.

"It wasn't about a princess in disguise being recognised for her nobility, it was about strength of character and also assholes getting what they deserved," Al continued. "I thought it was very romantic in the end; the prince realised the error of his ways and apologised and, you know, he made it right again, and the shepherdess didn't reveal her noble birth until _after_ the prince had earned the right to her secrets."

"I thought you didn't like romance," Caius commented.

Al shrugged. "It's just a story."

"If I were to…" Caius squeezed Al's arm, but it was a firm, vice-like squeeze, sure to wrinkle the fabric. Caius wouldn't voluntarily wrinkle fabric, so Al stopped thinking about the play and started paying attention to what was happening in front of him. "If I were to formally register my gender as female, would you marry me?"

The bottom fell out of Al's heart. "But you aren't a woman," he said.

"No, I'm not." Caius shook his head. "But I'm not a man either, so what difference does it make what my papers say?" His face was tight. "I'm aware that I have a…" He gestured at himself. "...a... _body_ ," he finished. "But I don't like to think that I'm… _anything_."

Al let out a breath. "You would do that? So we could get married?"

"Yes." 

"It isn't enough that I love you?" Al asked, even though he knew it wasn't. He could see it, in Caius' drawn face, in his eyes, tight and shiny. He could feel it in his own chest, where his heart was performing painful leaps against his ribcage. "Do you _really_ want to change your papers?"

"No," Caius answered, after a beat. "But I think I want to marry you more."

Damn propriety. Al slipped his arm from Caius' grasp so he could pull him close instead. He didn't often give him kisses, but he did now, on top of Caius' elaborate hairdo. "I'd marry you even if that wasn't the only option," he said. 

Caius drew in a shuddering breath. "Thank you," he said. He stayed where he was for another fraction of a second, then disengaged himself and patted his hair.

"It's fine," Al said. "Your hair is fine." He took Caius' flute anyway as Caius inspected his reflection in a glossy bauble nearby and with deft fingers fixed a single strand of flyaway hair.

"Mmh," Caius said. He was looking more put together now, his usual mask of aloof disinterest, reserved for events like these, settling into place. "The Imereti were frequent guests of the Esar's back in the day," he added, then nodded towards a couple by the buffet. "And there's the Ingalas. You know, I think they were present when I destroyed that poor man's mind."

"Is that why we crashed this ball?" Al asked. "To strike fear into the hearts of margraves and nobles alike?"

"That's merely a pleasant side effect," Caius answered. "I find it healthy to remind them of my existence from time to time. Maybe next time they won't snub me—I _am_ a lord, and technically rank higher than any margrave in this place."

"And the real reason?"

Caius took Al's arm and squeezed it. "I also find it healthy for my petty senses to remind them that I am a _person_ ," he said, softly.

~*~

Several dinner invitations had been made at the ball, and Caius was going over the list while Al was enjoying his favourite hobby in the city: eating. He had sweet buns spiced with rosemary and cardamom and glazed with icing sugar, and Caius had a planner open on the table in the café.

"If we push Royston and Hal to next week, we can end our stay here on a good note," Caius mused. "What do you think?"

"I think we should invite them to ours this week and see them again later," Al said, munching on a bun. Royston and Hal were still sickeningly sweet with each other, but Al could bear it—they were good people, and most importantly: they had become good friends of Caius'.

Caius tsk'ed. "Two dinner parties, nine days apart? That's not very proper."

"Blast it," Al said. "There shouldn't be rules for how often you're allowed to see your friends. See them every day if you like. We're only here for so long."

That didn't elicit any response from Caius, who just tapped his pen against his lip and then started scribbling. A short moment later, when Al had polished off all his sweet buns, Caius pushed his own plate into Al's direction.

"When we're finished here, I have to pick something up from the tailor," Al told him, picking up Caius' half-eaten bun. He bit into it.

Caius looked up, perplexed. "The tailor?"

"Yup." 

"What is it?"

"A tailored item."

"What _kind_ of tailored item?"

"The kind to be worn on the body."

"Why can't I know? Is it a gift? For _me?_ "

"It's for both of us." Al finished the bun. "And it's a surprise. I'll show it to you tomorrow."

"Why tomorrow?" Caius closed the planner. "Why not now? Are you done eating? Can we go pick it up now?"

Al just gave Caius a smug smile. "It's a surprise, so you are going to promise not to sneak a peek until I show it to you."

"I _never_ ," Caius protested, but he agreed. "This is very exciting. I haven't had a proper surprise in so long. What kind of surprise is it?"

"It's a _surprise_ surprise," Al said, and rose from the table. "Come on, then. Let's go."

~*~

Al woke when Caius slipped out of bed. It was still dark, and Caius' pale shadow moved through the room quickly, then vanished beneath Al's morning robe. The door opened and closed with a quiet snick, and Al was alone.

It was too early to be awake, but there was something to be said for early mornings in Thremedon: it was quiet. The darkness held a secret kind of peace that would be broken soon enough, but before that...it was calm. That was why Caius always rose early, Al knew. He'd once said rising early was better than meditation. At home he rose with Al, as did the entire farm, and usually sat on a wall in the stables watching Al go about his work with the horses before they had breakfast together. 

That was a different kind of meditation, Caius had said, and Al didn't question it. 

He got out of bed and fetched the package from the tailor, not bothering with the lights. Caius had valiantly resisted the temptation to look inside, and now it was time to give him the surprise. Al put it on, and then made his way downstairs to the breakfast room.

"Did I wake you?" Caius asked when Al entered. "I'm sorry, I tried to be quiet." He was cradling a cup of tea and penning letters, and only belatedly looked up. "That's a new robe."

"Surprise," Al said.

"How is that a gift for both of—oh, is it to _share_?" Caius face lit up in a delighted smile.

"Yes, but not how you think," Al said and went to Caius. He held out the robe, showing him how the front had several yards of extra fabric. Enough fabric, in fact, to wrap around another person. A Caius sized and shaped person.

" _Oh_ ," Caius breathed, reaching up to touch the fabric. "It's lovely." 

He stood, and Al immediately wrapped him in the robe. Caius' arms fit around Al's waist and he gave a little content sigh. "Come sit with me," Al said. Caius nodded.

Caius moved his teacup and letters to Al's place on the other side of the table, and then they sat, Caius snug against Al in the robe. "Help yourself to my tea, if you'd like," Caius offered, as there was no coffee yet, and no breakfast, and wouldn't be for another hour.

Al tried a sip, but decided Caius could have it all to himself.

The darkness outside was receding and soon the city would wake up, but for the time being it was still calm. Caius' bony body was warm and the only sounds in the room was the scratch of his pen against paper, accompanied with little thoughtful noises as he worked at their correspondence. Low noises carried through from the kitchen now and then.

Eventually Caius finished the letters and leaned back against Al. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yes."

"Why do you love me?"

Al wasn't sure what to say. "I just do."

"There has to be some reason," Caius said.

"Do you have a list of reasons for why _you_ love _me_?" Al asked, curious.

"Yes. Do you want to hear them?" Caius poured himself a fresh cup of tea. 

Yes, he did, Al realised. He very much wanted to know all the reasons why somebody like Caius would love somebody like him. "I love you because you're _you_ ," he said. "You're infuriating, and annoying, and a nuisance, and—"

"Those are all negative words," Caius cut in, softly.

"Yes," Al admitted. "I have a long list of those words and others besides, and they wouldn't be enough to really...explain...why I love you. You're interesting and relentless and take delight in the strangest things, and...you're you."

"I'm me," Caius said. His voice held a tone of surprise in it, genuine surprise. Al had learned how to read him, over the years he'd known him, and knew when the walls came up and when they came down and when Caius himself wasn't aware they were up. 

"I think," Al said, slowly, trying to work out how best to put it, how best to make Caius _understand_. "I know I'm odd. Not like...eccentric odd, not like you. But like you, too, in some ways. And you get that, about me, and you never wanted me to be anything else than what I am."

"I _have_ been trying to refine your taste in clothing," Caius said.

"That's not what I mean," Al said. "You like pretty things, clothes are pretty, I get it."

"So...you put up with me because I put up with you?"

Al smiled, shaking his head. "No, I love you because I don't have to pretend I'm going to marry some woman and have a bunch of children. I get to just love a madman."

Caius sniffed haughtily, and Al knew he'd struck a soft spot. "Well, when you put it like _that_."

"I do put it like that."

"You're only making me want to marry you more," Caius said, finally taking a sip of that tea he'd poured. His voice was starting to get a bit shaky. 

"Is it very important to you that we get married?"

"I think so," Caius answered after a short, tense moment. "Is it not, to you?"

"I think marriage is a box, and that you and I aren't made for that box," Al said. "If the law were different, if it had space for you and me, then...yes."

"And if I change my papers?" Caius was worrying his lip.

"Yes," Al said, after a beat. "If that's what you want."

Caius found Al's hand and turned his palm up. He laced their fingers together. "I need to think about it. For now... I would appreciate it very much if you were willing to make me a promise."

"What kind of promise?"

"Stay with me," Caius said. "Let me stay."

Al's heart skipped. "Yes." He squeezed Caius' hand. "Will you make me the same promise?"

The tension leaked out of Caius' body. "Yes," he said. "Bastion damn it: _yes_."

"Oh," Al said, his heart doing the physically impossible thing of both calming down and speeding up. 

They sat together like that until Caius finished his second cup of tea and the morning sun fully illuminated the room.

"I need you to sign off on our letter to Yana," Caius eventually said.

Al put his hand in Caius' rumpled hair, taking a moment to appreciate that Caius didn't consider him people, in his odd Caius way of navigating the world. This was one of the many reasons Al loved him, and he made a mental note of telling him sometime. "Of course," he said.

_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> I had to stop here before the fic spiralled totally out of control, but just FYI: in the sequel that lives only in my head, Hal (with help from Royston and Caius) is primus motor on getting marriage equality for all.


End file.
